The Rose
by CynthiaW
Summary: People view love in many different ways. Here are a few of them, using themes from Bette Midler's 'The Rose'.
1. A River

The Rose

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Lord of the Rings_. It belongs to the Tolkien Estate and New Line Cinemas. I also lay no claim to the lyrics of _The Rose_. It was written by Bette Midler.

A/N: This fic was inspired by the lyrics from _The Rose_. Each chapter will be based on a line or two from the song. The scenes will fill in gaps in the stories from Tolkien's mythology, not necessarily in chronological order.

_Some say love, it is a river that drowns the tender reeds._

Gladden Fields, 2 TA:

Isildur ran from the battlefield, invisible to friend and foe alike, knowing that he left his guard to their deaths. Two of his sons were already dead, and his eldest would join them soon. He loved the Ring he had taken from Sauron. Did he love it more than his sons? More than life itself? What was happening to him?

When he took the Ring, his many times great-uncle, Elrond, warned him not to keep it. The half-elf _told_ him it must be destroyed to break Sauron's power forever. He refused to listen. And for what? To keep a powerful weapon of the Enemy as a trophy, a weregild for his father and brother! What was he _thinking_?

Now, he must escape to Rivendell and tell Lord Elrond he was right. Get men together to return to Mordor. Only in Mount Doom could he end this. But in leaving, he left his three eldest sons to their inevitable deaths. But Elendur was right: if he stayed, he would also be killed. At least his youngest son had been left in Rivendell, too young to join battle. Now, he would have to teach Valandil what the boy needed to know to succeed him on the throne. He did not have much time left to do that.

He pulled his cloak tighter about him as he ran. The hood must be kept up to conceal the light of the Elendilmir. The jewel that served as crown for the High King when he held court in Arnor shone so powerfully, that not even the Ring could conceal the light it gave off. It was an heirloom of his House since the first centuries of the kingdom of Númenor. After the death of Elendil in the final battle, it had fallen to Isildur, as eldest son of the great king. Was this family treasure not enough for him, that he must claim another? Family should have been the most important thing at such a time. Now, what did he have left?

He had reached the river, now. Still invisible, he stripped himself of anything that could weigh him down and dove into the water, swimming towards the opposite shore. It was cold, but at least the Great River flowed more sluggishly here. It was easier to cross than at other points on the River.

He struggled through the stream, finding it harder to swim across than he had thought it would be. Despite every effort, the current dragged him downstream until he found himself tangled in the reeds of the Gladden Fields. He fought off the reeds as best he could, halting in his struggles upon realizing that he was no longer wearing the Ring.

At first, Isildur despaired at the loss. What could he do, now? He would never find it in the mass of plants here! As quickly as he despaired, though, he recovered. The pain he had felt since he'd claimed the Ring was gone. He was free! He gathered himself, and carefully sought for firm footing on the riverbed. As he climbed out on the other side, arrows struck, and he knew no more. The body of the King of Arnor slid back into the river.


	2. A Razor

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Silmarillion_ or "The Rose".

A/N: Thank you to all of you who read this fic, so far. As I mentioned, this will cover all areas of Middle-earth history, in no particular order. Updates for this fic will be very erratic, as some characters are harder to write for than others. That said, here is the second installment.

_Some say love, it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed._

Doriath, c. 463 FA:

Beren looked at King Thingol in amazement when he heard the demanded bride price for the Elf-king's daughter, Lúthien. He was shocked that the great elf would send anyone on such a perilous quest as the Silmarils of Fëanor. All knew that Morgoth guarded them most fiercely of anything in his lands. Anyone who sought them would need to pass through many dangers to even _glimpse_ them. To attempt to capture even _one_ would mean death to the one who attempted it.

Why so high a price for even so beautiful an elf maiden as Lúthien? Beren decided that he didn't care about that. Whatever Thingol demanded, he would do for love of Lúthien. She was all that mattered to him. Beren was all that remained of his family. His mother died years ago. His father was dead four years, killed by Orcs when he was betrayed by poor Gorlim, whose desire for his lost wife led to his capture by Morgoth's servants.

With no one else left to him, Beren had nothing to lose by doing as Thingol demanded. If he failed, he would rejoin all those he had lost in the Wars. If he succeeded, he would gain as his wife the most beautiful woman to have ever lived in Middle-earth. Desperation and love gave him the answer. If Thingol wanted to have a Silmaril in order for him to have Lúthien, he would get one, even if Beren died getting it for the king.


	3. A Hunger

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read this story, so far. I offer you all hot apple cider and a slice of apple pie.

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Lord of the Rings_ or _The Rose_.

_Some say love, it is a hunger, an endless aching need._

Misty Mountains, c. 2470-2941 TA:

Gollum sat in the darkness, stroking the surface of a beautiful gold Ring. It shone in the dim light of the cave, his own eyes glowing with desire. A birthday present he had received long ago, the Ring was something he loved like nothing else he had ever owned. Déagol had _no right_ to keep it from him that day. It was, after all, his birthday. The Ring had arrived especially for his birthday.

It was his Precious and he would never let it go. No one would ever take it from him. It would never leave him. He needed it and it needed him. They were made for each other. All he needed to love was this precious band of gold he held in his hand.

He hungered to put it on, but he resisted the urge. His Precious was here, and that was all he needed. It was useful to have, but he didn't need to wear it all the time. The secrets he sought when he came here long ago were not so great as he had thought. The cave was dark, with few visitors. Only occasionally would goblins come down here for the fish in this underground pool.

His desire was very strong. He _had_ to wear it. If he wore it, he would never want for food again. He would have anything he desired. No more blind fish from this dark underground pool or tough goblins from the upper caves. He would have other meat from other places.

Gollum stopped. No, he didn't need to wear it. Food was plentiful here. He had all that he needed right where he was. The Ring would stay on the island, for now. He could come back to visit it later. The only time he needed to wear his Precious was while hunting for food. And his Precious would be there with him.


	4. A Flower

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Lord of the Rings_ or _The Rose_.

A/N: A big thanks to everyone who's read this fic. I offer up hot chocolate with your choice of either marshmallows or whipped cream. This chapter was inspired by "The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen," in Appendix A to _The Lord of the Rings_.

_I say love, it is a flower, and you its only seed._

Lothlórien, Midsummer's Eve, 2980 TA:

Aragorn gazed lovingly at Arwen. He had come to Lothlórien, weeks before, to find her visiting her grandmother, the Lady Galadriel. Here, on Cerin Amroth, they now stood to plight their troth. Elanor and niphredil bloomed about their feet that Midsummer's Eve, and he looked into her eyes, to find his love for her mirrored there.

This had been 29 years in coming. They had first met when he was but 20, the selfsame day on which he had learned of his heritage. He had loved her the moment he laid eyes on her, though her feelings for him were unknown. Elrond had forbidden their marriage until he fulfilled his destiny. So Aragorn had taken his place as Chieftain of the Dúnedain Rangers, learning all he could of the people he would rule.

Over the years of his wanderings, his love had changed, but never faded. It had bloomed, from his first youthful infatuation, into true, everlasting love. He knew now, as he couldn't know then, that their love would endure through however many decades they had together. His thoughts dwelled on Arwen frequently, when he had time to think. Picturing her face as he fell asleep at night, he grew in certainty of his desire to wed the lovely elf.

Now, returning to the North from many adventures all over the South and East, he found Arwen was not only in love with him as well, but willing to wait for however long was necessary for them to wed. They made their decision together to make their pledge now. Neither knew how long they would need to wait, or if they would ever be able to fulfill their pledge.

Together, they knelt in the grass, and pledged to marry. Neither would settle for any other. As a sign of this pledge, Aragorn gave her the Ring of Barahir. The ring had been an heirloom of his House for millennia. Arwen would be his one day, and the ring was a sign of that.


	5. The Heart Afraid

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Lord of the Rings_ or _The Rose_.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read this fic, so far. I deeply appreciate every one of you. I offer all of you the hot beverage of your choice in thanks.

_It's the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance._

Edoras, 3018 TA:

Éomer son of Éomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark and nephew of the King of Rohan, sat brooding in his room in Meduseld. Gríma son of Gálmód had wormed his way into the King's confidence, and convinced the aging man that the Wizard Saruman was still trustworthy. In spite of all evidence to the contrary that Éomer and the King's son Théodred had managed to find, Théoden was now certain that Saruman was _not_ a danger to Rohan.

Even while Gríma subverted the King, Éomer was even more worried about his sister. Éowyn was a beautiful young woman, and Gríma was showing a disturbing amount of interest in her. She did everything to discourage his attentions, but Wormtongue was quite persistent. Éomer was deeply concerned that the villain might force himself on the princess. Simply to defend his sister's honor, the Rider was willing to kill Gríma. But there were other things to consider before he did such a thing.

Besides the fact that he would be killing an unarmed man, there was his uncle's law to take into account. None could harm or threaten harm to Gríma, on pain of death. If he even _touched_ Wormtongue in an unfriendly fashion, his sister would be left with no one to defend her from Gríma's machinations. Théodred, as Second Marshal, was away from Edoras for long periods of time. Éowyn was quite able to protect herself, true, but what if Gríma convinced the King to let him marry her?

Éomer sighed. He could do nothing but wait. Sooner or later, something would happen to give him the chance to save his family from the little snake. In the meantime, he would have to do what he could to mitigate the damage Gríma's plots caused. He had no other choice.


	6. The Dream

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Silmarillion_ or _The Rose_.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read this fic. I offer everyone chocolate roses in thanks.

This chapter takes place in the time frame that is referenced in my collaborative work with Miriam1, "A Ghost in Middle-earth." I urge everyone to check it out on Miriam's profile page, if you haven't read it yet.

_It's the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance._

Ost-in-Edhil, 1697 SA:

Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion, sat in his study, fuming. Glorfindel had just informed him that orcs had been sighted not far from the city. He recommended, once again, evacuating the entire city to Lindon, where Gil-galad was prepared to find housing for everyone. Elrond had also made this recommendation. Both persisted in telling him they had no chance to defend the city from attack!

Celebrimbor was sure the city's defenses would hold. His people were valiant warriors, and the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm would aid them in the defense of Ost-in-Edhil. And besides, Gil-galad and Cirdan had also promised to send warriors. But Glorfindel insisted that aid would not arrive in time. He also seemed certain that the Dwarves were on the verge of sealing the doors of Moria against attack.

But Celebrimbor would _not_ accept Glorfindel's assessment. He _must_ be wrong. He _had_ to be wrong! Celebrimbor couldn't bear to think of any other reality. The people would never listen. The good Elves of Ost-in-Edhil didn't deserve to be turned from their homes.

Celebrimbor loved the people of Eregion fiercely. They had lived in this city for over nine centuries and made many beautiful things. If they left, they would be forced to abandon the treasures they had made. And then, there were the repercussions of his grandfather Fëanor's Oath. Celebrimbor rebelled against his own father, Curufin; would his people rebel against _him_ if he uprooted them? He couldn't take that chance.

Moria and Eregion had been allies for nearly a millennium. Durin's Folk would not turn their backs on the Elves of Hollin. They would rather die than betray an ally and friend. Such an act would go against everything they were. Friendship was important to them on so many levels.

As for the other Elves not making it before Sauron's troops arrived, Celebrimbor was sure Glorfindel was wrong about that. The orcs were scouts, nothing more. They had plenty of time to await the reinforcements from Lindon. Why uproot his people on the slim chance of the Enemy breaking through the border defenses earlier than expected? They were safe within the city walls. Most of the adults were capable of using weapons at need, and many of the older children were quite competent.

Besides, if he abandoned Ost-in-Edhil, the _only_ good to come of the Fëanorian line would be destroyed. Everything his family had tried to accomplish over the millennia would come to naught. All of the good that came from the founding of Eregion would be undone if he uprooted his people after all this time.

As far as the orcs are concerned, there was nothing to worry about. Elrond and Glorfindel were concerned needlessly. He would trust in the defenses to keep his people safe. His people did not need to leave their homes. Everything would be fine.


	7. The One Who Won't Be Taken

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read this fic. I offer everyone hamentaschen with your favorite fillings. I hope everyone is enjoying reading this collection of musings.

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Lord of the Rings_ or _The Rose_.

_It's the one who won't be taken who cannot seem to give._

Isengard, March 5, 3019 TA:

Saruman sat in his tower, staring at the spot where the palantír once sat. Gandalf had just left Isengard with the Rohirrim and the rest of King Théoden's retinue. The fools were riding to their own destruction, and they didn't even know it! Of course, he was hardly better off in Orthanc, now that the Ents were guarding him. He began to wonder if he should have accepted Gandalf's offer of amnesty.

Since that idiot Wormtongue had thrown the palantír at Gandalf (or so the spy _said_ – it nearly took _his_ head off on its way over the railing), he had no way to communicate with Sauron. The Nazgûl would surely be on their way here since his refusal to answer the summons. His plans for seizing the Ring for himself had failed miserably. Maybe if Gríma had done a better job of getting him the information he needed, Rohan could have been destroyed before Gandalf could rouse the old king to action!

The sniveling coward had spent far too much time pining after the king's niece and not enough time setting up the king's nephew to fall in battle. The king's son was easy to dispose of. If both Marshals were dead, Rohan would have been leaderless. Gríma, surprisingly, did a good job of convincing the king to ignore Saruman's overt attempts to overrun the Mark with orcs.

It was these last setbacks that were the problem. The orcs he sent after the Ring were destroyed, most likely by Éomer, who should have been killed sooner. Now, the annihilation of his army at Helm's Deep, due to the unexpected interference of both Gandalf and those cursed Ents, ended any chance he had of defeating Sauron.

Saruman began to consider whether he _should_ help the fools. After all, he _was_ deep in the Enemy's counsel. At the very least, he would be able to help delay Sauron until a new plan could be formed to defeat Him for good. Gandalf's terms were not overly onerous, after all. Leaving Isengard would become a necessity, anyway, what with the lack of food in the tower. His staff... He glanced at the ebony staff he dropped on the balcony, now 2/3 it's original length. Gandalf had broken it and cast Saruman out of the Order! How dare he?

Forget it! Gandalf's conditions were clearly based on his _own_ designs to rule. He hardly needed to trade one master for another. Saruman would not be taken in by anyone. After all,_ he_ had had the only plan that would have worked against Sauron, and they had refused his counsel.


	8. The Soul Afraid of Dying

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read this story. I offer you lemonade and ice cream of your favorite flavor. Once again, I hope you all enjoy this little collection of musings.

Disclaimer: I do not own either _The Lord of the Rings_ or _The Rose_.

_And the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live._

Dunharrow, Rohan, March 8, 3019 TA

Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, lay on her bedroll. The dawn had just broken, Aragorn having just left with his kin, Legolas, and Gimli. Aragorn had refused her entreaties to wait for her uncle and brother and join the Muster. Even worse, he had refused her wish to join his company on their perilous road!

Duty! It was all well and good to speak of duty when one's part was valiant deeds and winning renown. But as a woman, hers was to stay behind and be drynurse to the old and the children. She was a woman of the House of Eorl. What need had _she_ to wait for ignominious death in defense of homes the Riders had no more need of? She knew as much as Éomer about battle!

In addition, her love for Aragorn was not returned. He felt only pity for her. What need had a shieldmaiden for pity? She had no desire to be _pitied_! What greater renown could she have had than to be Queen of Gondor and wife of the first King of the Númenórean Realms in Exile in centuries! If she could not have that, all she had left was to die a glorious death in battle. At the very least, if they won, her name would be in songs sung of this war for a hundred years. If they lost, nothing that anyone did would be remembered.

Whatever the outcome, victorious Riders with new tales of battles in which she had played no part or invading enemy armies come to destroy Rohan and her people, death in battle was preferable to waiting interminably to learn what had happened.


	9. The Lucky and The Strong

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this fic. I offer iced tea and ice cream of your favorite flavor.

Disclaimer: I do not own either _The Lord of the Rings_ or _The Rose_.

_When the night has been too lonely, and the road has been too long,_

_And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong,_

Edoras, Rohan, August 10, 3019 TA:

Samwise Gamgee stood amongst the gathering of Big Folk. King Éomer, newly crowned king of Rohan, had just announced the betrothal of his sister, Éowyn, to Faramir. The young Steward of Gondor was very much in love with his intended. He deserved this happiness after everything he'd been through.

Seeing Faramir with Lady Éowyn, Sam began to wonder if he still had a chance with Rose Cotton. The lovely hobbit lass had been on his mind since Strider married Arwen. People kept talking about Sam like he was a hero of the War. Many lasses he'd seen in Gondor and Rohan had been very interested in the soldiers who'd survived the battle. Maybe, just maybe...

But _that_ didn't make sense! What had _Sam_ done to deserve such talk? He was no hero! He'd helped Mr. Frodo to the end, that was certain. But a hero? Never! He was just a gardener, plain and simple. As for Rosie, she had a lot of hobbits interested in her. He'd been gone for months, and she had her pick. She _must_ be married by now. And if not married, she could easily be betrothed.

She was young, after all. Why should she wait? She didn't know when, or if, he'd return. And he'd had no chance to tell her he was leaving the Shire. For all Rosie knew, he was dead. What reason did she have to wait around for _him_, a hobbit that hadn't even had the courage to tell her how he felt?

Sam knew that Faramir and Strider both deserved the wives they now had. They were brave warriors and big, strong Men. They had fought long and hard to win this War. Sam was just a simple hobbit who'd stumbled through his first adventure, trying to keep his master safe. Why did _he_ deserve the loveliest hobbit lass in the whole Shire? Nowt but a ninnyhammer, indeed! His Gaffer was right, all along.


	10. The Rose

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this fic. As my nephew's second birthday was just this past Friday, I offer ice cream of your favorite flavor.

Disclaimer: I do not own either _The Lord of the Rings_ or the lyrics to the song _The Rose_.

_Just remember, in the winter, far beneath the bitter snows,_

_Lies the seed that, with the sun's love, in the spring, becomes the rose._

Hobbiton, The Shire, May 1, 3020 TA:

Samwise Gamgee was going to marry his beloved Rose Cotton today. He could hardly believe it! After all his pining and fear of rejection, he'd found that she was as much in love with him as he was with her. She had simply been waiting for him to tell her.

When he'd finally told her, over a month ago, how he felt, she'd pointed out that she didn't like his going away for a whole year. She had felt that they had lost time with him being away, and she didn't want to wait any longer. She had worried for him while he was away, had waited through the long, cold winter, even though she had no way of knowing if he would return. She was so glad to see him coming up the path to her parents' door, had almost run up to him to welcome him home!

But she had to wait until he had sorted those ruffians before she could really settle their personal plans. She thought Sam was very brave, to fight those Men. He had helped to chase those invaders from the Shire like a gardener keeping pests out of a flower bed. Rosie was very proud of what he'd done to protect everyone. And when the ravages of the Troubles were on the way to mending, she informed him that she wanted to get married as soon as he could manage it.

Sam was reluctant to get married, at first, as Mr. Frodo had wanted him to move into Bag End. The poor gardener was torn in two, wanting to marry Rosie _and_ move in with Mr. Frodo. When they discussed it, Mr. Frodo solved Sam's dilemma by telling him to marry Rosie, and the couple could move in to Bag End together.

Even knowing it was about to happen, Sam couldn't believe his luck. He had spent much of his time thinking that Rose would already be someone else's, by now. But she had waited for him, even in the face of so many people telling her that he was dead. And now, she would be his wife! He was so happy, he could almost sing! He could _not_ believe he was_ finally_ marrying his Rose!


End file.
